


My love, I see you’re growing tired

by Elvara



Series: The Fates vs Zolf Smith [2]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-RQG177, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Spoilers for RQG174 onwards, The Fates - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvara/pseuds/Elvara
Summary: In the aftermath, there's a lot to do. Zolf needs a moment.
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: The Fates vs Zolf Smith [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032771
Comments: 16
Kudos: 51





	My love, I see you’re growing tired

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Orpheus by Sara Bareilles
> 
> I'd recommend reading Zolf Smith vs the Fates first, but all you really need to know is that Zolf and Oscar have met several times before canon in this universe.
> 
> As ever, thank you makesometime for the cheerleading. <3

_Snip._ The sound of the scissors echoes and is followed by a curse.

"Gods, _no!"_ Atropos looks devastated as she turns to her sisters, holding two distinctly separate pieces of thread. 

Lachesis frowns, following the frayed end of dimming thread to where it becomes part of the weave to see it enmeshed with her favourite part of the grander story.

"Wilde?!" Her head snaps back to her sister, gaping in horror. "What did you _do?!"_

"My scissors slipped!" Atropos looks devastated. "I didn't mean to!"

Clotho is on her feet and staring intently at the surrounding threads, spinning forgotten for the moment. "Wait! I can fix this!" She takes the threads from her sister, fingers flashing in deft movements as she binds the ends together, tugging in strands from the existing web to make the join stronger.

After a moment, she steps away. "There." She touches the place in the tapestry gently.

Atropos frowns. "But he's still dead."

Lachesis, following the surrounding threads more closely, cocks her head to one side. "There's a chance."

Clotho nods, tracing another shimmering thread. "It's time we put our hope in Zolf Smith."

\--

In the aftermath, there's a lot to do. The newly resurrected need healing and reassurance, then Hamid and the others return and there are tears and hugs and hundreds of questions. After that, Sohra and some of the other Ursans lead them to some quarters; an otherwise empty building with creaking uneven floors and then there are things to fetch from the ship to make it fit for sleeping.

Zolf keeps busy, healing the wounds that weren't completely fixed by the ritual (while trying to ignore Wilde's gaze upon him), checking in with Earhart (who gives him a knowing look), assigning sleeping space to everyone while giving orders for the able bodied to ferry bedrolls and belongings from the ruined airship. Throughout it all, he ignores the tiredness weighing heavy on his shoulders. His gaze falls on Wilde often, cataloguing, confirming he still walks and breathes. 

By the time they're all settled in the main room of their temporary quarters with several bottles of alcohol of mysterious origin (apparently Carter’s skills are unchanged by a temporary death), Zolf finds himself on the edge of the group, observing. Hamid is pestering Carter about his experiences under Barnes and Azu’s watchful gaze; Sassraa and Meerk are ensconced in the middle of the kobolds; Earhart even appears to be having a halfway civil conversation with Wilde. 

Zolf feels suddenly drained, the experiences of the past few hours - _has it really been just a day?_ \- finally hitting him. He'd risen to stretch his legs, aching as they are from where his prosthetics are fitted and as he looks at the group, looks at Oscar laughing softly at some comment from Earhart and his throat suddenly tightens, eyes burning.

He slips through the door and up the stairs, making his way to the safety of his quarters. It’s not much more than a cupboard, devoid of furniture and only a tiny high window, the larger spaces reserved for the kobolds who won’t be separated and the few rooms with beds given over to the newly resurrected. As the door clicks shut behind him, he takes a deep heaving breath that’s more of a sob, scrubbing a trembling hand across his face. 

It’s to be expected, he thinks. He's not slept since the party on the ship (and doesn’t that seem like a lifetime ago now?). Between the borealis and the crash and the healing and the ritual, he’s only stopped for an hour to meditate. He’s exhausted. He just needs some time to himself and some sleep. He knows this but that doesn’t stop the shuddering in his body as he tries to bring himself under regulation.

He lowers himself carefully to the floor, back to the wall, folding his arms and head to his knees. Deep breaths. In and out. Slow. It’ll pass.

He’s really not sure how long he’s been sitting there, focussing on his breathing when there’s a knock at the door, accompanied by a soft “Zolf?”.

He scrubs a hand across his face again and up through his hair. His eyes are dry but feel gritty and he heaves himself up with a grunt, opening the door to Wilde. Wilde looks hesitant, a bundle of something wrapped in his arms, and Zolf drinks in the sight of tiny motion - the shifting of his weight, the way his chest expands as he breathes. 

“This feels familiar.” Wilde quips.

Zolf’s voice is hoarse when he's able to speak. “Is this where you tell me I look like shit?”

WIlde huffs a laugh, gesturing with an unsteady hand at his newly white hair. “I’m hardly in a position to judge.” He looks down at his feet, and adjusts his grip on what Zolf now realises is a bedroll. “I was wondering if I might join you. I, ah, I’d rather not be alone, right now.”

Zolf swallows and nods, stepping aside to invite him in. “Can’t offer you a drink.”

Wilde shrugs as he steps inside. "Probably for the best.” He pauses in the centre of the room, fiddling with the edge of the bedroll. “Thank you. It was all getting a bit… crowded down there.” 

Zolf shrugs. “S’alright.” He gestures expansively at the small room. It’s unfurnished, but they’ve both slept in worse. At least it’s dry. “Well, which bit of floor takes your fancy?”

Wilde smirks, pretends to give this particular consideration before picking his usual spot furthest from the door. They fall into easy silence, rolling out bedrolls in a familiar routine. Zolf sits, leaning against the wall as Wilde seats himself cross-legged facing him. 

There’s another long moment of studying each other before Zolf shifts, slightly uncomfortable with the silence. “You look fine.”

“What?” Wilde furrows his brows at him.

“Your hair.” Zolf gestures vaguely. “It’s, uh, distinguished. Or somethin’.”

Wilde frowns, dragging a hand through his locks to bring them into his eyeline. He sighs lightly, letting the hair fall through his fingers. “I’m not the man I once was.”

Zolf shrugs. “I reckon none of us are. Don’t mean we ain’t better for it.”

Wilde’s gaze softens, a smile playing around his mouth. He studies Zolf’s face with it’s too-red eyes. “How are you, Zolf?” Before he can respond, Wilde continues. “The truth, if you don’t mind.”

Zolf hunches in on himself for a moment before letting his breath out in a long sigh. “Tired. It’s been a long couple of days. ‘Sides, shouldn’t I be askin’ you that?”

Wilde hums thoughtfully as he lets Zolf’s evasion slide. “With your excellent skills in healing, how could I not be?”

Zolf rolls his eyes. “Now who’s not bein’ honest?” He examines the man in front of him in turn. White hair aside, he’s got dark circles under his eyes (not unusual for Wilde) and seems to be holding himself in tension. To be expected, he supposes. Only hours ago he was dead.

Wilde sighs, shifting position to stretch a long leg out in front of him. “I will be fine.” He rubs a hand over his chest. “Between the extraordinary efforts of the Ursans and yourself, I’m physically well. But, it was getting a bit much, down there. Hamid’s curiosity is admirable but perhaps not well timed.”

“He doesn’t always know when to stop.” Zolf nods, wishing he’d thought to intervene earlier. “If you don’t mind me askin’,” he pauses to read Wilde’s expression. The man waves a hand at him to continue, “how much do you remember?”

He shrugs, “More than Carter is claiming to. But it’s a little fuzzy.” He lifts his head to look Zolf in the eye. “I remember the important parts.”

Zolf nods, at a loss for what to say. There are probably things they should talk about, but where should he even begin? He’s grateful that Wilde came back? He hopes he didn’t guilt him into it.

Wilde rescues him from his thoughts. “Do you suppose this counts as our fifth meeting?”

The words are so far from what Zolf was expecting - and really he doesn’t know what he was expecting - that he just stares at him for a moment before the meaning sinks in. “How do you figure that? You knew who I was.”

Wilde shrugs. “Well, you’d never met that version of me, strictly speaking.”

Zolf frowns. “Accordin’ to you, I met you as a student.”

Wilde rolls his eyes. “Clearly, this was different.” He waves hand to gesture at Zolf. “You were you from now, I was me from then.”

Still, Zolf shakes his head. “No. You knew who I was, even if you didn’t remember how we met.”

“Given our numerous meetings, it seems egregious that I should have forgotten.” Wilde taps his fingers lightly on his thigh, giving Zolf a long considering look.

“What?”

“I could feel you coming for me, you know.” Wilde moves his hand to place over his chest. “Here.”

Zolf swallows hard, suddenly nervous about the direction of the conversation as he remembers how it felt. “If you could feel that,” he manages after a long moment, “why did you need me to give you a reason?”

Wilde smiles at him, a little sadly. “I’m a selfish man, Zolf. It’s nice to know that we both _know_ there’s more to this than just - doing the right thing.” He laughs to himself. “Even if it is merely the prospect of being able to watch you read a new Cambell novel some day.” He looks away, and the softness of the smile on his face makes something clench in Zolf’s belly.

“Besides.” Wilde turns back to him, looking resigned. “You don’t believe in fate, Zolf.”

Zolf’s mouth is dry as he stares at this man he once hated yet somehow became his most trusted friend almost without him noticing. The man he came so close to losing. He clenches his fist in a bid to stop the trembling that’s started again. Wilde - _Oscar’s_ eyes flicker to the movement with a worried frown.

He picks his words carefully. This isn't the moment to be unclear. "I - I’m not ok. Not right now." Oscar makes a movement to reach out but stills himself. "It's been a lot, yeah? Worse for you, I reckon. But. I don't know what - I don’t know _how_ to deal with this. Right now." He gestures between themselves.

Oscar is examining him closely. "Have you slept at all, Zolf? Since the storm?"

"Not the point." Zolf waves away the question. When would he even have had the time? "We both know there's a lot still to do here. To fix everything. But I think-," here he pauses, meeting Oscar’s eyes with his own close scrutiny. "I _hope_ we understand each other."

The smile that crosses Oscar's face is slow and sure as he leans imperceptibly closer. "I think we do, yes."

"Right. And for what it's worth-" He stops again, struggling for how to phrase it. "After what's happened, maybe I do. A bit." Oscar looks puzzled and he gestures vaguely. "The fates. Figures they'd be interferin'." He holds up a hand to stop Oscar's interruption. "But whatever path they've stuck us on, took us four meetin's for it to stick. So. Makes me think. Everythin' else, that's just you n' me."

The answering smile on Oscar's face is blinding. For once, he seems lost for words. He looks down at his hands and then up out at the waning light through the window. Eventually, shaking his head with a soft laugh, he looks back. "You've more of a way with words than you think, Zolf." He looks fond. 

Zolf sags then, relief and exhaustion catching up with him at once. "Right. Okay." He mutters, suddenly feeling exposed.

Oscar reaches out then, touches his hand lightly. “Get some rest, Zolf. We’ll deal with the rest as it comes.”

\--

Later, when Zolf wakes gasping from the nightmare of Oscar’s body cold in the snow, there’s a hand clutched tightly in his, warm fingers attached to a concerned gaze and a warm whisper in the dark. “I’m right here, Zolf. I’m not going anywhere.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Can we all agree that Zolf should be allowed to sleep?


End file.
